


Kept in the Dark

by Theoroark



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Amorphous Vaguely Renaissance-y Time Period, An excessive amount of seductively removing ball gowns, F/F, Role Reversal that was not the author's intention but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: Chateau Guillard is bright gold in the night. Light and song filter out through the windows and the front door, which stays open to accommodate the flow of illustrious guests and their servants. They rush, as fast as they politely can, to get inside, because inside is glamorous and important, and outside is dark and cold. Every wealthy, envious soul keeps their eyes on the flame.And so none of them notice Sombra climb up the wall and through the window.-In which there is an assassin and there is a collector of secrets.
Relationships: Background Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison - Relationship, Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 21
Kudos: 34





	Kept in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [svntysix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/svntysix/gifts).



> Dedicated to Ash [@svntysix](https://twitter.com/svntysix), who has amazing AU ideas and is all-around an incredible artist and friends <3 Inspired by her thoughts on Renaissance-y Assassin's Creed shit & I know precious little about those two things, but I hope you like this <3

Chateau Guillard is bright gold in the night. Light and song filter out through the windows and the front door, which stays open to accommodate the flow of illustrious guests and their servants. They rush, as fast as they politely can, to get inside, because inside is glamorous and important, and outside is dark and cold. Every wealthy, envious soul keeps their eyes on the flame. 

And so none of them notice Sombra climb up the wall and through the window. 

She lands in a darkened hallway and when she hears footsteps approaching, she pulls herself to the shadow of an armoire. But when she sees the guard pacing the hall, she smiles and slinks out. Sombra taps Gabe on the shoulder. By the time he whips around, hand on the hilt of his knife, she’s already leaning against his other shoulder. He glares at her as he relaxes. 

“You shouldn’t be here. You’ll blow my cover.”

“What?” Sombra bats her eyelashes. “A reveler can’t take the time to have a nice chat with a sad old man?”

“No,” Gabe says. He elbows her so she has to move off of him. “Especially not when you’re interfering with my interference.”

“What? Did you hear there are other groups attending?”

“No. I’m just trying to make sure the other guard is preoccupied when you’re completing your mission. Assuming you ever get around to that, that is.”

Sombra stares at him in disbelief for a moment. Gabe keeps a completely straight face. “I told you,” Sombra says slowly. “I can outmaneuver one guard. Hell, I’ve outmaneuvered a dozen before. You don’t need to honeypot this.”

“I think it’s just good practice.”

“I think you just think he’s hot.”

“I think you should get to work,” Gabe says, straightening the collar of his uniform. “Your package is in the drop room we discussed.”

Sombra notices his goatee is neatly trimmed today, and he’s wearing a bit of cologne. She rolls her eyes and heads down the hall. She does, in fact, find her supplies in the appointed guest bedroom: a forged suicide note, and a flowing pink gown. 

Gabe is gone when she emerges, fluffing the skirt so it hides the dagger strapped to her thigh. She walks the direction he came from, and leans against the balcony to survey the ballroom before her. 

It’s expansive, consuming most of the first floor of the manor, and it’s packed. People in dresses and suits much nicer than Sombra’s mingle at the periphery of the dancefloor, and move in stiff, rehearsed steps on it. Sombra scans graying heads and perfect updos until she finds her target. It’s not hard, to be honest, because the entire crowd seems to subconsciously bend towards the Widow Lacroix. The mass of people grows thicker in proximity to her, and conversations are staged so that eyes can slide towards her. One could attribute it to her being the host. But Lacroix is quite beautiful, too. She seems utterly unphased by the attention. Sombra smiles. It’s impossible to exist at this level of society and not know that darker forces undergird the whole thing. Lacroix is rich and Lacroix is collecting priceless relics. If she’s not scared to be in this room, she’s brave or stupid or both. 

Too many people glance up at the balcony for Sombra’s liking– including the broad-shouldered, finely dressed man Lacroix is talking to. Sombra makes her way down the grand staircases and tries to get into a position where she can watch Lacroix and not be watched. 

  
  


Sombra’s almost at the far side of the room, almost in sight of Lacroix again, when suddenly her view is cut off. The well-dressed man is standing before her, examining her. He does not seem particularly impressed with what he finds. 

“I haven’t seen you at one of these events before,” he says. Sombra meets his gaze coolly. She’s used to this, was expecting it, really. People born with money always seem to sniff out those who weren’t. 

“There’s a lot of people here. You can’t be expected to know everyone.”

“That’s true,” the man says. “And if I think about it, you do look familiar.” He sets a hand on Sombra’s shoulder. Sombra strains to keep her smile. “You belong here, then?”

“That’s what I’m told,” Sombra says, through gritted teeth. 

“You shouldn’t listen to just anyone, you know,” he says. His rings dig into Sombra’s bare shoulder. “Someone telling you these things might not have your best interests in mind.”

Sombra shrugs hard and though the man is strong enough to keep her in place, he lets go. She pushes past him and stops. 

Lacroix is gone. 

Sombra wheels around and the man has disappeared– far too well for a man of his size, but that’s not really her concern right now. Her mind races as she pushes her way through the crowd. She had been so careful. She had been so thorough. She does not understand why Lacroix would leave, at the height of the party she is ostensibly hosting. Because surely she could not have gotten wind of the plot against her life.

Sombra runs up the grand staircase, not caring at the moment if she draws heads. She runs back to the darkened hallway with the open window. 

“Gabe!” she hisses into the darkness. There’s no response. Swearing, Sombra kicks off her heels, shoves them under a grandfather clock, and starts down the hallway. She likes her jobs best when she’s hunting, using her wits and skill to pin down her mark. But waiting is a perfectly adequate strategy as well. 

It’s just not as reliable, Sombra thinks. Or maybe it is, but it’s just less… active. It’s trusting that a chance encounter will inevitably occur. And Sombra doesn’t like that. She likes to think her wits and her skill affect things. She doesn’t like to give luck that much weight. She likes control. 

Like when she opens the door to the master bedroom, and Lacroix is just sitting at her boudoir, for instance. It works, but it doesn’t feel good. It’s unexpected. Sombra likes to know what’s coming next. 

Lacroix doesn’t seem to have the same problem. She doesn’t even react when Sombra steps into the room and shuts the door behind her. Sombra can see her own reflection in the mirror, and Lacroix’s eyes briefly shift before she refocuses on unpinning her elaborate updo. Lacroix knows she’s here. 

Was Lacroix expecting her?

There are just a few meters between her and Lacroix, but every step Sombra takes feels treacherous. Lacroix’s utter lack of reaction is more unnerving than any drawn knife or piercing scream her previous targets have attempted. As Sombra walks forward, she knows she is entering unknown ground, and she hates it. She draws her knife and finally Lacroix’s hands come down from her hair. There’s a bobby pin in her hands, and Sombra can see a small pearl at its end. 

Lacroix spins around on her velvet stool. “I’m not planning on putting up a fight,” she tells Sombra. “They do say that Colomar is not one to be trifled with, don’t they?”

Lacroix just sits there as Sombra stares at her. She makes no move to escape or attack her. She doesn’t even seem particularly smug. She doesn’t seem particularly anything. Sombra tries to grab hold of something in her expression, but Lacroix offers nothing. 

“No one knows my name,” Sombra says. 

“That’s clearly not true.”

“Who told you?” Lacroix looks meaningfully at the knife in Sombra’s hand. Sombra grits her teeth and swipes her skirt to the side and slides it back into the holster strapped to her thigh. Lacroix’s gaze remains, but becomes a different kind of meaningful. 

“Who told you?” Sombra repeats, and Lacroix’s eyes snap up to hers, her face that collected calm once more. 

“Do you like the game you play, Colomar?” she asks. 

“Sombra.”

“Pardon?”

“Sombra,” she says. “That’s my name. Not that.”

Lacroix cocks an eyebrow. “My information came from a reliable source. And even if it didn’t, your reaction confirmed it quite well.”

“That’s not my name,” Sombra says. “My name is Sombra.” After a moment, Lacroix nods. The shake of her head jostles her hair, and Sombra watches Lacroix’s carefully pinned and prodded hair tumble down around her shoulders.

“You still didn’t answer my question, Sombra.”

She hadn’t. Sombra leans against the wall and thinks about it. Lacroix describing this as a game tells her quite a bit about what side she’s on. Sombra smiles and laughs and jokes but at the end of the day, this is her life. If she cannot hide and infiltrate and kill, she dies. You laugh and play at not caring because you have to but once all your chips are in, this is no game. The only people who don’t know that are those who have had lives before this and may have lives after. 

But Sombra is good at what she does, and she enjoys being good at things. She enjoys knowing things and being capable of things that money and rich blood can’t buy. She likes having some measure of power, after a childhood spent watching power from the gutter. Even if it’s not a game, she couldn’t give Lacroix a definitive “no,” even if she wanted to.

It occurs to Sombra that she is in fact considering the reasoning of her answer to Lacroix, and what its effects will be. She snorts. She was wrong about Lacroix. She’s not stupid or courageous. Or at least not just those things. 

“I dunno,” Sombra tells Lacroix, who simply raises an eyebrow at the brief response after a lengthy deliberation. “Why?”

“Because some people are,” Lacroix says. “Some people are tired of the rules your lot has set in place. Other people love them dearly, and will stop at nothing to protect them. And many people are very good at concealing what kind of people they are.”

Lacroix starts to finger the clasp of her pearl necklace. Sombra watches as the strand spills down her chest. “You’re talking about traitors in my guild,” she says. 

“Yes.”

“One of whom tipped you off about me.”

“Quite.”

“But you’re telling me this,” Sombra says. “And so you’re not…” She meets Lacroix’s gaze in the mirror. Lacroix smiles wanly. 

“I don’t know who you got your orders from,” she says. “But I think some wires and some agents might have gotten crossed.”

Sombra sits down on Lacroix’s bed. The plush mattress sinks under her weight. “If the person you’re working with knew my old name, they’re real fuckin’ high up in the guild,” she says. Widow turns from her boudoir. “I don’t know who gave me the order,” she tells her. “All my orders are anonymous. But whoever they were, they had access to a council seal.”

“So they must be pretty high up too.”

“Or good enough to steal from the best thieves in the world.” Sombra rubs her forehead. “I’m fucked.”

Lacroix stands up. As she does, her gown slides down, splitting open at the back zipper and falling past her hips easily. Lacroix steps out of it, in just her slip, and walks towards Sombra. Sombra’s head is still swimming. But when Lacroix holds out her hand, she can’t help but take it. 

“I appreciate your understanding tonight,” Lacroix says. “And it won’t be forgotten.”

“You can’t protect me,” Sombra says. “This isn’t a game.”

“We can play together,” Lacroix tells her. She wraps her hand around Sombra’s and pulls. Sombra is surprised by her strength, and the callouses that silk gloves should have protected her from. Lacroix pulls her upright and Sombra is standing face to face with her. Lacroix’s hair is loose and she is barely dressed and Sombra is barefoot in a ball gown with a knife strapped to her thigh. It’s a ridiculous scene, she’s sure. But when Lacroix tells her, “I tend to win,” Sombra is gone enough to believe her. 

“Okay,” she whispers. And Lacroix grins widely for a split second, before her face is collected and calm once more. 

“Excellent,” she says. Lacroix turns around and for the first time Sombra notices the spider tattoo across her back, previously covered by her dress. “Do you have any leads that may be at this event?”

It takes Sombra a moment to refocus. “No,” she says, when she’s been able to collect her thoughts. 

“You recognized no one here?”

“I recognized plenty. Just no one I’d want to recognize me.” Lacroix snorts. “Anyway, whoever we’re looking for isn’t going to show their face here.”

Lacroix nods. She puts on a black silk robe, a flimsy gesture at modesty that only serves to highlight her collar bones and hips. “When are you meeting with them next?” she asks. “And what are you going to tell them?”

“That you disappeared halfway through the night,” Sombra says. “That you must have been tipped off.”

“That’s putting me in a very precarious position,” Lacroix says. She takes a step towards Sombra. Sombra meets her eyes steadily.

“You look like you can handle yourself.”

Lacroix looks surprised, then she genuinely smiles. It’s the first time Sombra’s seen either expression on her, and she likes them both quite a bit. She likes it when Lacroix takes her hand, too. 

“Come,” Lacroix says, leading her towards the door. “You must have come here with other equipment. I’ll help you get out safely.”

Lacroix takes this duty seriously, it seems, looking to and fro and tip-toeing as she and Sombra enter the hall. Sombra squeezes her hand. “Relax,” she says. “I’m pretty sure the other guard here is distracted.”

“What do you mean, other guard?” Sombra smiles. Lacroix sighs. “The blond, or the hot one?”

“It’s always the hot one.”

“So it is.” 

Sombra looks at Lacroix out of the corner of her, but Lacroix is inscrutable. They walk quickly towards the spare bedroom. Lacroix watches her as she pulls her bundle of armor out from the dresser she’d stashed it under. 

“Where’s your grappling hook?” Lacroix asks. Sombra snorts.

“Don’t use one. I didn’t scratch up your windowsills, don’t worry.”

“The first floor is extremely guarded, though. Much more so than the second. How did you get up here?” Sombra undoes her dress and lets it slide down, exposing her thick back muscles. She might bring her arms together a little, so they flex, and then peeks over her shoulder. Lacroix is suddenly looking down at her lap. “Ah.”

“It’s much quieter,” Sombra says, taking her time putting on her leather armor. “Faster, if you do it right.” 

“You’re boasting.” Sombra just grins. The light is low, draining color from her vision, but she swears she sees Lacroix blushing. “Well. You got here at least.” 

“I did.” Sombra walks towards Lacroix, as she buckles up her chestpiece. “I’m glad I did, too.” 

“Now I know you’re lying,” Lacroix says. “I’ve involved you in dangerous politics. I’ve put you in a terrible position.”

“You could put me in a better one.” Lacroix laughs and Sombra does have a cheshire smile. But when they meet each others’ eyes Sombra can feel herself softening, and Lacroix’s lips part slightly. Sombra leans down and Lacroix rises up and– 

The door slams open and the room is filled with slick sounds and heavy breaths, a second too early and a few meters too distant. Sombra wheels and Lacroix sits back down and Gabe pulls away from the blond guard, his eyes wide and his arms still wrapped around him.

“What–” 

If Gabe is shell shocked, the blond guard is a professional. He sees the mistress of the manor alone and defenseless, and a strange woman in assassin’s regalia standing above her. He leaps towards Sombra, but she’s a professional too. She grabs a book as she runs and tosses it through the window, shattering it right before she leaps. She pulls herself up to the opposing peak of roof, wincing as the roof tile shudders on impact. The guard gingerly sidles his way across the broken glass after her. Sombra makes eye contact with Lacroix over his shoulder, blows a kiss, and runs. 

In a way, she thinks, the mission couldn’t have gone better. To Gabe’s eyes, she was foiled just as she had pinned down Lacroix. And he’ll certainly be invested in covering for her as well. She’ll have to be sure to thank Lacroix, the next time they meet up.

It’s not what Sombra had planned. But she likes power, and Lacroix is offering a rich vein of the stuff. She can’t wait to see her again.

-

Back in the guest bedroom, Lacroix looks away from the broken glass and chilly breeze, to a still stunned Gabe.

“It does feel a bit better, knowing you’re not getting any either,” Lacroix tells him. And she marches out before he can ask her what she means. 

Gabe shakes his head, walks to the window, and looks out. Jack’s not very far out– he’s pinwheeling as he makes slow, unsteady steps across the uneven surface. His gaze is firmly on his feet and not on a rapidly escaping Sombra. Gabe thinks that if he spoke, the blow to Jack’s pride would be more dire than any help he could offer.

Besides. Sombra’s the one who’s really in danger now. Let her have tonight.

Gabe backs away from the window, careful not to draw Jack’s attention. He strips off his uniform gloves as he heads back down the hall. He pulls out the file he wrapped around the cuff of his shirt, and picks the lock of a nondescript closet. There’s a paper waiting for him there, stuck to the wall with a cocktail fork. There are symbols, not letters, on the page, but Gabe knows the cipher.

“Completed?” the message reads.

Gabe writes his brief reply, and leaves out the servant’s entrance. As the party enters its waning hours, the finely dressed man makes his way upstairs and retrieves the paper. “Yes,” it reads. “We’re a team now.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I’m [@tacticalgrandma](https://twitter.com/tacticalgrandma) on twitter if you want to talk to me there!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos would mean the world to me 💜


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